


Rose-Colored Boy

by Joanne_Lupin



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ficlet, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_Lupin/pseuds/Joanne_Lupin
Summary: When Jack was a child, his world was cold. Winters in Montreal, days spent in the rink, and— well, and the colors.





	Rose-Colored Boy

**Author's Note:**

> A [tumblr ficlet](https://fightmekentparson.tumblr.com/post/170028489074/fightmekentparson-pfaerie-i-had-a-dream-where) that I finally crossposted here. Thanks to pfaerie on tumblr for the inspiration!
> 
> (title comes from the Paramore song of the same name, because that song is SO FUCKING ZIMBITS, y'all)

When Jack was a child, his world was cold. Winters in Montreal, days spent in the rink, and— well, and the colors.

When he was very young, Jack would hear his Mama and Papa say things like, “The red dress brings out the warm tones in your skin,” or, “I like the vibrant colors in this piece.” He never knew what they meant.

When Jack was in elementary school, they told him he was colorblind. As long as his vision was sharp enough to see the puck, he guessed he didn’t mind.

When Jack was up late with Kenny one night, he told him about his lack of color.

“So, do you see _any_ colors?” Kenny asked.

“Um. Everything just looks kind of the same. It all looks… cold, I guess.”

“Like blue?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”

When Jack was up late with Shitty one night, while Shitty was stoned and he was not, he asked if Shits could tell him what colors looked like.

“Colors are… Fuck. There’re a lot of them, for one.”

“Tell me about the warm ones. Tell me about… red.”

“Red is, like… It’s fuckin’ red, man. Whenever you see it, you’re like, ‘Woah, red’s here.’ It’s like that, y’know?”

“Not really, no.”

“Fuck, uh, it’s, uh…”

“It’s fine, Shits.”

When Jack met the new frogs, one of them was carrying a pie.

It was warm, and it was vibrant, and it was there, and Jack thought: _Red_.

He kept seeing it, everywhere. Bittle’s stick, his skates, his gear— they were always red. His pies were, too, and those tiny shorts he wore while running. His tracks through the house would fade back to cool blue over time, but when he moved in across the hall, the red was always right there.

When Jack made a tough call that went wrong, he saw red blossoming across the ice, and he learned that red wasn’t just heat— it was also pain.

When Jack watched Bittle’s tracks fade from the cool blue grass on graduation day, he realized that he wouldn’t just miss the color, but its source. And, as he followed the tracks across the campus, he learned that, along with pain and heat, red meant love.

When Jack kissed Bittle, his eyes were closed. When he opened them again, he was overwhelmed with color. But he latched onto the red of Bittle’s lips, and the flush in his cheeks.

When Jack saw Bittle with all his colors, Jack’s world was warm.


End file.
